Lovelier than one can ever see
Are the pages of their own story.
Beautiful they are with regret.
Mysterious they are with doubt.
There is power in those passages of memory
Where living and dead can walk together.
It is the weight of it all that presses
Like a lovers embrace.
It is the way an introduction to the past
Is forged within an intellectual capital.
It is where ones mind can be both clear and clouded
In the spires of its mysterious architecture.
No mind is given to what is beyond those places.
In this place they find solace.
While they are away
In that central city of self
They disregard what is slipping away
Beyond the walls of hindsight clarity.
They remain there still now.
Recalling those past ages again.
Reliving them.
As though they might change them by sheer will power.
Yet the future wafts farther and farther away
Leaving them caught in their own antiquity.
...Bag O' Magic Soup 